


Potholes and Welcome Mats

by b451c_u53rn4m3



Category: Danganronpa
Genre: AU, Full of my headcanons, Idea I had and rolled with, M/M, Slow Build, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 19:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20158996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b451c_u53rn4m3/pseuds/b451c_u53rn4m3
Summary: The first chapter is info on the AU; the second chapter on should be the story! (Assuming I managed to format everything correctly.)Komaeda finds himself stranded with a flat tire. Will the short, angry guy in the nearest house be willing to help? After a bad first impression, how will the two react to seeing each other elsewhere?





	1. About the AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since this is taking place in an AU my dumb ass has decided to create, here’s some info about it!!

This is a post- Hope’s Peak Academy and non-despair AU. Well past. Nagito and Fuyuhiko, personality and character-wise, are based on my friend and I’s interpretations of them from a roleplay.  
They’re all out of college (well, everyone who went to college, anyway.)  
Fuyuhiko, for personal reasons (which should be revealed later into the story, if I take it where I want to), was not in the same classroom as his SDR2/DR3 classmates- he was in a different room, but the same class. He has met many of them, however. (I’ll go into detail on that after touching on everything else I feel is important!)  
There was never a killing game, so everyone who died in SDR2 is alive here. (Since this focuses mainly on Fuyuhiko and Nagito, you can dream up almost whatever lives you want for most the others.)  
Nagito is gay, and Fuyuhiko is bisexual with a stronger attraction towards girls.  
Fuyuhiko has gotten a tattoo since Hope’s Peak. I should describe it at some point, if I don’t, I’ll try and remember to post a picture of the design somewhere.  
Nagito still had his attraction to Hajime, who he met outside of school and learned he also went to Hope’s Peak. Upon finding out he was not an Ultimate, he still freaked out like in SDR2. Unlike SDR2, he got over that here. 

Fuyuhiko has met the following classmates from Hope’s Peak:  
Hiyoko Saionji- they were good friends, often going around town together and waving at strangers. They didn’t do this to be polite. They did it to make the strangers spend the rest of the day wondering where they knew these two teens from.  
Mahiru Koizumi- Fuyuhiko met her through Hiyoko. Due to issues caused by Natsumi, he tries to keep interactions with her to a minimum.  
Peko Pekoyama- she and Fuyuhiko have been close since childhood, how could he not know her?  
Hajime Hinata- the two met in college. They dated for a bit.  
Ibuki Mioda- Ibuki grew close to Peko during Hope’s Peak, so Fuyuhiko became her acquaintance.  
Chiaki Nanami- she is the class rep, after all.  
Mikan Tsumiki- although most of their interactions were fairly anonymous and relating to Fuyuhiko’s personal reasons for being outside of the main classroom, they did chat a bit face-to-face after Hope’s Peak Academy. 

Fuyuhiko did not meet, before the beginning of this story (Excluding the Trigger Happy Havoc crew, who he also did not meet):  
Nagito Komaeda  
Akane Owari  
Nekomaru Nidai  
Gundham Tanaka  
Byakuya Twogami  
Sonia Nevermind  
Teruteru Hanamura

Despite not meeting many of his classmates, he has heard about most, if not all of them, from Peko and everyone else he has met.


	2. And thus, I wrecked my car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all of this is fairly unedited and stuff. i had a friend read through it but errors are still possible OOP-  
Please forgive me for any errors!
> 
> Edit: Feb 23rd, 2020: found and corrected a couple of spelling/formatting errors. Hoping to get the next chapter out soon!

It really seems like the universe is against me today. Again. (Not that it was ever FOR me, I guess.)  
I’ve hit a pothole and now have a fucked up tire, as opposed to a decently working one that could get me home, or even to a local auto shop. There’s one house near me. Might as well see if I can get a bit of help, seeing as my phone died half an hour ago. Maybe longer. With an overly dramatic (yet silent) sigh, I begin my walk to the front door of the daunting grey house. It’s got quite a large yard, as well as a long driveway. Not wanting to be rude, I make sure to walk in the driveway the whole way up.  
As I turn onto the small sidewalk marking the final trek to the house, I wonder what I’ll say. “I crashed my car” is too close to a lie, “I need to use your phone” too vague and serial killer-y- I mean really? Who doesn’t have their own phone in this day and age, or at least the common sense to avoid getting murdered?  
Settling on something along the lines of “I need to call roadside assistance, but my phone is dead- could you help me out?” I go to ring the doorbell- but not before noticing the welcome mat that makes me freeze in my tracks. Actually, “shooing mat” may be a better phrase for it. Reading over it again, I’m questioning if I should continue with my plan of asking for help here. Helpful people don’t often have doormats that read “Fuck off. I don’t have visitors.” after all.  
Deciding to throw all my fucks out the window, I ring the doorbell. It doesn’t seem to cause any dogs inside to go sicko mode- is whoever lives here petless? A cat person? Whatever they are, it doesn’t matter to me. I’m only here to borrow a phone, after all!  
Just as I’m contemplating ringing the doorbell again, the door swings open, revealing a short, irritated-looking male.  
“What,” he moreso spats than asks.  
Before I can ask about the phone, something else comes falling out of my mouth. Oops.  
“Are either of your parents home?”  
“Ha. Ha.” He’s glaring at me. “Real funny.”  
He slams the door in my face before I can explain or apologize. Shit.  
A sigh and a deep breath or four later, I reach for the doorbell again. He opens the door before I press it, startling me backwards- I nearly fall off the porch.  
“What do you want?!” He asks, sounding tired and ready to fight at the same time.  
“I, uh- sorry- phone dead, bad tire,” I stutter put.  
He cocks an eyebrow. “You’re telling me this why, exactly?”  
“I was wondering if I could use your phone to call roadside assistance!” I say, my voice cracking much more than I’d like it to. Dang, this dude is intimidating for someone so short- does he run some kind of hang or something?  
“I take it saying ‘yes’ will get you out of my hair faster,” he notes. “Whatever, just make it quick.”  
He steps out of the doorway, motioning with one hand for me to come inside. This I do, albeit somewhat nervously. A quick glance around at his entryway tells me nothing more about him, though there is a lovely simplistic chandelier.  
“I’d tell you to take your shoes off, but that’d mean you spending unnecessary time here. So, feel free to keep them on,” his voice interrupts my admiring of the chandelier.  
I look down, noticing another couple of doormats inside the house. One is the resting place of multiple pairs of shoes (rain boots, sneakers, what must be his daily wear shoes). It has a blood splatter design to it. The other reads “Fuck off unless you’re here to fuck me.”  
“Oh, it won’t take me any time at all to take them off,” I say nonchalantly, crouching down. “They’re just zipper shoes.”  
“Well, that’s the stupidest fucking shoe I’ve ever heard of,” he retorts as I unzip my shoes and add them to the mat.  
“But whatever, just stay there. I’ll get my phone off the charger and bring it here. Or you can follow me like an annoying goddamn duckling and use it while it’s on the charger,” he continues, walking further into the house. I’m following him- if only to hear everything he’s saying.  
“I noticed you have a lot of doormats,” I comment offhandedly once he’s finished speaking. “Are you a collector or something?”  
He huffs. “Yeah, something.”  
We walk to what I presume to be his living room in an awkward silence. He walks to a table beside the couch, picking up his phone, which is currently plugged in. Another look at the couch and I realize that ‘loveseat’ may be a better way to describe it, based on its relatively tiny size.  
“Before I let you use my personal cell phone,” his voice snaps me back to attention, “I’m gonna need your goddamn name so I know who to hunt down and bill if you run me out of minutes.”  
‘Oh yeah,’ I realize, we haven’t introduced ourselves yet. I can’t help but let out a chuckle at this, as well as his threat of billing me- this earns me a glare from him. Which is perhaps made scarier by the fact that I’m just processing that he has an eyepatch on.  
“Nagito Komaeda,” I introduce myself. “A man prone to bad lu-“  
“I didn’t fucking ask for your life story, you bastard. Just your name. Now make your call and get out of my sight. It’s painful enough to look at your sorry ass with one eye, I’m thankful I don’t have two,” he snaps the beginning of this, but I think I sense a little sarcasm at the end. Regardless, he holds out his phone, which I carefully take.  
A quick phone call later, and- who am I kidding? The phone call isn’t quick at all. I’m on hold for half an hour and Tiny is glaring at me the entire time. Looks like he may have to hunt me down and bill me after all.  
Once the call is finally over, I give Tiny his phone back. He snatches it from me, plugging it back in.  
“Took you fucking long enough,” he grumbles.  
“Woah, shortie, chill out!” I half-joke, raising my hands a little to show that I mean no harm.  
In an instant, he’s pulled me down to his level by my shirt collar. Holy hell, he moved fast.  
“You think you’re not stuff? Huh? Think you’re tough? That why you think you can just fucking insult me like that?” Tiny spits in my face. Not literally, though he could use a lesson on ‘say it, don’t spray it.’ I think I’ll pass on being the one to give him that lesson. He continues, “boy do I have a news-fucking-flash for you, bitch. Try that shit again and they’ll never find the body.”  
That sure escalated quickly. I really wouldn’t mind getting out of here now, but it’ll be at least another half an hour before roadside assistance gets here.  
“I..didn’t know what else to call you?” I meekly offer.  
“My fucking name, maybe?!”  
“The one I don’t know?”  
This causes him to let go of my collar. I slowly stand all the way back up, a bit weary of him now. Tiny has gone silent, facing away from me. I’m only slightly horrified by this.  
“Fuyuhiko,” he speaks after a moment, sounding each syllable of what must be his name out.  
“Fuyuhiko,” I repeat back. Huh. That has a nice ring to it.  
“Don’t wear it out, you fucking hormonal bastard!” He snaps, twirling on his heels to face me again.  
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I say as calmly as I can, raising my hands defensively in front of my shirt collar. “I was only going to use it again when I filled out the check to pay you if I ran you out of minutes.”  
“Good,” Fuyuhiko says, seeming to relax a little. “Now, Nagito, when the fuck are you getting out of my house?”  
“They’re sending a tow truck- it’ll be here in like half an hour,” I inform him.  
“And I suppose the weather’s too shitty for you to wait outside?” Fuyuhiko asks, suspicion in his voice.  
“It’s not..terrible out?” I squeak out my reply. “In fact, it’s kinda nice. Not that it’ll stay that way with my luck,” I chuckle.  
Fuyuhiko sighs. “I guess you can stay inside, then. But I swear to fuck, if I catch you touching a single goddamn thing,” he warns. “I’ll stay in the entryway,” I promise. “And the only thing I’ll touch is my shoes when I’m about to head out. Cross my heart and hope to die.” I make the motion with my hands as I promise.  
“I’ll walk you back there,” Fuyuhiko nods, seeming to think that’s a good idea. Me waiting in the entryway, that is; I’m not sure if he thought walking me there was another good idea.  
As he leads me back to the front of his house, I notice what seems to be a class picture. From college, maybe? A closer look at it and I see a familiar face.  
“Do you know Hajime Hinata?” I ask; hurrying a little to catch back up to Fuyuhiko, who walks surprisingly fast for such an overall little guy.  
“Guess that’s one way you could put it,” Fuyuhiko shrugs, the lightest chuckle in his voice. “He and I were- how should I put this? We were together for a while.”  
I felt my jaw drop before I realized it did.  
“Nuh-huh,” I gasp. “Hajime is the straightest guy I know! You’ve gotta be pulling my leg, Fuyuhiko.”  
“Well, I guess he’s the straightest bisexual you know, huh?” Fuyuhiko rolls his eye.  
“So- I’ve got a shot with him after all?” I joke.  
“Eh, last I talked to him he was with some ‘Nanami’ chick. I guess it’s possible, but you’ve got some serious competition- from what I heard? She’s a gamer girl.” He huffs and carries on. “No clue what your deal is, but I’d say she has an advantage.”  
“Oh. Damn.” I’m trying to play off the disappointment in my voice as joking and fake. Either I succeed, or Fuyuhiko just doesn’t want to deal with me anymore.  
I peek through the window beside his front door, brushing the curtain aside to do so- this must be how Fuyuhiko saw that I was about to ring the doorbell that second time.  
“I think I see the roadside assistance. I’ll be getting out of your hair now,” I let the curtain fall back into place as I step back and go to put my shoes on.  
“Good. Get your dumbass self and your shitty, stupid as fuck shoes out of my house.”  
“Okay, seriously? They’re cool shoes,” I defend my choice in footwear, completely brushing off his comment about me. I’m used to it, especially after high school.  
“Get the hell out, already.”  
“Headed out as we speak, Hiko!” I zip my shoes and exit his house.  
“Never. Fucking. Call. Me. Hiko. Again.” can be heard (loudly) as I run to meet roadside assistance.

Back at home, after a lengthy chat with the roadside assistance that came to help me about how and why I forgot about the spare tire in my trunk, I’m feeding my animals- two rats, and a raccoon that I probably can’t have legally- and I just can’t get him out of my mind. Fuyuhiko. Mr. Don’t-Call-Me-Hiko. I never got his last name- or a chance to thank him for letting someone as awful as me use his phone. Would it be rude to go thank him later? He might not even answer the door if he sees me again. Might be better to send a card. I can look up his address- I remember where I hit the pothole, so with some Google Maps, I’ll know exactly where to send a thank you.  
My stomach grumbles, bringing me out of my thoughts. Oh yeah, I need to feed myself, too. There’s a frozen pizza in my freezer- I can hear that up for my dinner.  
As I’m waiting for the pizza to cook, I pull out my phone. I open Amazon and start looking at doormats. I wasted too much of Fuyuhiko’s time for just a card to be appropriate, so a gift and note seems fitting. Scrolling through the available mats, I see several good options. Then, I see the perfect one. It’s a standard black printing on a mediumish brown, reading “No public bathroom,” with smaller text below that, reading “in fact there’s no toilet at all. Use the outhouse down the street.”  
I add it to the cart just as the oven beeps, signaling that my frozen pineapple pizza is now a cooked pineapple pizza. Setting my phone aside, I take the pizza out of the oven and slice it, taking a few slices and setting them on a plate. I shut the oven off and get s fork out of my silverware drawer.  
Taking my plate, phone, and a napkin knot my room, I sit on my bed. Slicing the pizza into smaller sections with the side of my fork, I ponder what I’ll say in the note alongside the doormat. Maybe “hey! hope i didn’t run you out of minutes- have a doormat since i interrupted your personal time (hope you don’t hate me for that!) and if i did run you out of minutes, get ahold of me here and i’ll pay you back! (413)420-6669” would work?  
Taking a bite of my pizza, I nod to myself. It’s perfect- there’s no way it could go wrong with such a skillfully worded note! Still chewing, I open my phone and type out my note.  
As I eat the rest of my pizza, I open up Google Maps and look up Fuyuhiko’s address by locating where I hit the pothole. Once I’ve found it, I plug it and my note into Amazon, placing the order for one “Fuyuhiko Not-Hiko” to receive a doormat. It’s currently Thursday. Amazon says that the doormat will get to him on Saturday or Monday.  
Finishing my dinner, I start preparing for bed. I toss my dirty dishes in the sink, put the leftover pizza in the fridge, change into pajamas, brush my teeth, and plug my phone in.  
Laying down in bed, I push Fuyuhiko out of my mind. I’ve done what I can to make peace with him, all I can do is wait for him to contact me about running him out of minutes- assuming I even did that. Pulling my blanket up to my chin and closing my eyes, I try to think about and picture rainbow bagels being made. Sure enough, the steady, repetitive process lulls me to sleep.


End file.
